Too Close
by Susanne
Summary: COMPLETE- one shot. Hermione muses on the possibility of standing too close to someone to see the bigger picture. This is a SSHG, if you don't like the pairing then don't read it!- Epilogue added- Severus' viewpoint
1. Realising the blindness

Summary: One shot, complete. Hermione muses on the problem of standing too close to someone to see the whole picture. Never one to be shy, she then takes direct action. Could be added to, but would need massive reviews ( numbers not necessarily length) in order to persuade me.  
  
Disclaimer: Not making a knut from this, all characters and settings belong to the Goddess aka JKRowling.  
  
Please leave a review in the little box, good or bad I would love to hear from you guys.  
  
Have you ever tried being so close to someone that you touch noses? Your mother perhaps, or a loved one in an intimate moment, gazing into their eyes as they come closer, until your vision blurs and you can see only a fuzzy shape, feel their warm breath and know that you are loved. I remember, in a moment of perfect clarity, the smiles and laughter as my mother and I played this game. As she came closer she filled my vision, the colour of her eyes a greenish blur, she was my world.  
  
In hindsight I realise that was how I saw him. The persona he wore was not subtle, was pushed in our faces to prevent us seeing anything else, to protect us. He was the hated professor who made our lives hell, for no reason, for nothing we ever did warranted his treatment of us. But, even my reasoning brain could not see past the fictions he spun in order to keep our vision short. His eyes mesmerised us, our attention straight and close, never allowing us to wonder off and see the real reason, the real person.  
  
That's the trouble with being so close. Even the face of your mother becomes distorted, a skin coloured blur obscuring all else. You know her, you know the face mapped in your mind's eye, and yet the contours shift beyond recognition. You see only a barely recognisable imprint of the whole. And that is how we saw him, how I saw him.  
  
I stand back now, returned from fighting in a war which although won has cost us so much. So much time and talent, so much blood and tears, wasted on the ego of a mad man, of a mad wizard. Not a good combination that, the power and the insanity feeding each upon the other until they form a mass of evil that spills out, tainting all it touches, corrupting life itself. It has touched him, worked its insidious presence into his blood and bone, and yet he has resisted. He has fought for us, protected us with his life, given everything for our cause, and yet.....  
  
We stood too close, seeing only the blur of black robes, the smirk, the sarcasm, the distaste and hate that emanated from him. Too close to see the reasons, even when we had them spelled out to us, his loyalty explained. We were children, but that is no excuse, we were simply too close.  
  
His head snaps up and he focuses on me, eyes narrowing until all I can see are dark, glinting slits. He is suspicious, uncomfortable in this new world free from the Lord he served obliquely. But, he recognises the girl in the woman he sees before him and he relaxes, slightly, enough to be contemptuous. It is only Granger, she is no danger to me, I can see the thoughts as they chase across his face.  
  
And that is the trouble with standing too close. He has only seen me as a blur, has only seen the schoolgirl, the brain, the friend of Harry and the Gryffindor. He hasn't seen the person, the thoughts,..... the danger. For I am dangerous to him, I am the seer, the one to break though the veil he weaves around himself. I have seen him for who he is, and although he still fills my vision, my sight is clear.  
  
I smile slightly and walk towards him, my heart pounding as I take the first steps that he would never dream of taking. Catching my mood he straightens, defensive posture coming to the fore as his sixth sense is obviously screaming that he is the prey being hunted. His eyes never leave mine, keeping their dark gaze intent on mine, questioning, seeking answers to my presence, to my attitude. I have nothing left to say to him, I am not sure I could explain why I feel compelled to do this, to try this, with him. I am within a step of him now, his head tilted slightly, his lips pursed as he swallows an acid remark, the question very clear although no words have been spoken. His wand is clutched tightly by his side, although I never saw the movement that brought it from its hiding place, held tightly in a tension filled grip. He should be afraid, I have every intention of changing his world, and no threatened hex would be able to stop me in this moment. I bring my hand up the cup his pallid cheek, smiling at his start of surprise, and gently rub my thumb across his cheekbone, tracing the lines of his face.  
  
"Severus" I whisper, I have longed for this too long to keep dumb, and am gratified by the softness that enters his eyes. How did I not see them before, I wonder, as I finally meet the man I have known years and teach him how to see me.  
  
Please review, like Snape I hate to beg, not a pretty sight, especially when the mascara runs....mine, not his, although it would explain the beautiful long black lashes of his........ 


	2. Learning to see

Disclaimer: All character contained therein are the property of JKRowling and I am not making any money from borrowing them.

Just a little epilogue to show Severus' point of view. Please leave a review in the little box.

I could have run, could have pushed her away and retreated behind the cold wall I have built from my persona. The opportunity presented itself many times over the course of that evening, to escape the responsibility of the new relationship. I never did, and as I look back at that time I realise it was when I was bravest.

The first step that she took, a smile, a caress, a soft kiss of blush red lips, soft as velvet upon my cheek, was a new beginning. She knew I wouldn't, I couldn't make that step. Partly is not in my nature to be so forward, but also because it had not honestly occurred to me that she would welcome my attentions. She gave no indication, no smiles of affection, no lingering looks, nothing that I could recognise at least. Her first step came from out of nowhere, and changed us both for eternity.

A moment never seemed to last so long before, as I gazed at her, questioning her, trying to find out why she was acting as she was. She had smiled her secret smile and simply told me she had to do it. We drew apart slightly, and hands still connected we sat on a hastily bespelled couch in my office and tried to communicate.

I was never very good at communication, rather ironic for a teacher I suppose. Children are different, simply tell them what to do and award detentions and point loss if they get things wrong. Adults are more difficult to deal with. It is not that I am not fluent, my diction is clear and my vocabulary larger than the average wizard, even the average well educated wizard. The problem is more related to my lack of socialising skills.

Communication is an art, and requires practice, something I am not willing to do. I detest people, the inane chatter about subjects I care little or nothing for is deeply irritating. As soon as I was able to suit myself I stopped communicating, except from necessity and my school duties. It gave me more time with my beloved potions, but mainly it gave me peace, a quiet loneliness that I revelled in. Until that first step of hers, I had not allowed myself to realise just how lonely I had become, how starved of affection, how cold.

She had smiled gently as I told her this, and mentioned something about standing too close to myself. I queried her meaning, and that is when she began to tell me some of the reasons behind the scene we had just played through.

She has reprimanded me for standing too close to see the person behind the mask, but now I am unsure whether she means herself, or me. Did I stand too close to myself, did I lose sight of the man I was, and start to believe in the persona I projected? How much of this is due to my childhood, the need to wield power in a world I seemed to have no control over?

The affection I needed as a child was not forthcoming. My parents, for all their lack of cruelty, were typically Slytherin in their own upbringing. They raised me as they themselves had been raised, I was obedient, diligent in my work, respectful and mainly absent. The bond I see between the other houses and their parents were not the same for us. We were tolerated as the children of the house, but little more than that toleration showed through the behaviour of our parents. There were no open displays of affection, no spontaneous hugs or gentle kisses. Only the reprimand of a disappointed father if my grades fell below perfection, the censure of a mother if my tablemanners failed to come up to her standards. It lead partly to my need for power, to perfect myself, to become beyond the reproach of others. It was what lead me into _his _clutches, what made me give up my soul for the promise of power, for control.

I think she understands this, although I can never make her feel the shame and humiliation I feel, she seems to empathise. She is one of very few who have wanted to try. She is making me stand back now, to view all my past, the actions and reactions, as if they belonged to another. I can see the thread of consequence as it knits my life together, I can see where one slight tug will unravel the pattern, allowing me to weave it anew. I can forget this past, leave the memories and the complexes in a tightly locked pensive. She is offering me a chance to change. She is offering the chance to be included, in her life, in her bed and in her heart. And, if I am truthful with myself, I see that I have craved this, although I have never allowed my conscience mind a chance to whisper its discontent.

Even after her explanation I have no understanding of her motivation, what has driven her to make this move, what game she is playing? But, I find I am eternally grateful that she has tried, and I take her hand as she steers me away from my past. Where ever this action takes us, it must be better than what has been, for both of us.

I am willing though, on this one point, to concede to her knowledge: for, although I am stepping back, I am focusing upon the reality of us, not the facades, and in doing so I make the circle complete, finally becoming close to understanding us both.

Closure, for this episode of my life is complete, and I have no wish to return to the man that was. I have found the other half of my soul, the part I thought for so long I had given to darkness, is now renewed by her. And, in this love, I have recognised the truth about myself and grown to tolerate the being I am, if not to like. It is, I realise, the most I can concede. I will always be too close to events to view objectively the person I played. And her, my sweet rescuer, what would she say about my reformation? She, I think, has no complaints, but rests her head upon my shoulder as we sit before a roaring fire and focus on tomorrow.

The End

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